day 50: bullfighting

so i discovered that watching animals die for sport is not something that i enjoy.

my emotions are currently locked in a battle that is resulting in a mild stomachache. on the one hand, i appreciate that this is a tradition, a part of a culture that i am here to experience. on the other hand, animals are being tortured and killed for merriment and applause.

there were 4 bulls that were killed, and i stayed for all of them. the first 2 went quickly and i was able to appreciate the culture of it all. that, and the drunks chucking beer bottles before being quickly escorted out by 15 other people were interesting to watch. then 2 clowns played with a young bull, baiting it and what not but letting it live. the 3rd and 4th bulls though...

bull 3 held its own. it had been speared a few times but had managed to run out of harms way, the sword refusing to pierce its skin. people in the stands waved white cloths, napkins, and toilet paper to signify their want to save this valiant bull. the bullfighter ignored their please. whistles and calls became frantic and pleading, but to no avail. the final stab brought the bull down, much to the distress of the people.

bull 4 was a feisty one and i had high hopes when it slammed into the bullfighter, running him over. the bullfighter was unharmed, however, and after playing with the bull for a bit, he brought down his sword, the angle of which resulted in blood spewing from the bull's mouth and nostrils. the dust was being kicked up, and all was illuminated by one, bright halogen bulb. as the dust settled, the silhouette of the bull, blood flowing freely, down on its knees, remained illuminated when suddenly the lights dimmed and all i could see were the shapes of those in the stands, the lights of the band behind them casting shadows and rays of light catching dust.

the entire time, i just kept wishing i had a camera that could capture the tragedy of the moment. i could see the perfect shot in my head but my point and shoot cam could never do any of it justice. the juxtaposition of a man in tight, shiny clothes, standing so proudly before a young bull, blood foaming from its mouth, its eyes rolling wildly in their sockets. how he felt pride in this moment, i couldn't understand. how difficult is it to kill a wounded, frightened animal? was this a moment of pride over conquering his human emotions of empathy? of completing a tradition that he had been trained in? i just didn't understand.

the audience confused me as well. wild feminine screams of fear resounded beside me as women cowered each time the bull charged at the bullfighter. drunk men shouted encouragements at the bull, at the bullfighter, at the women. i couldn't understand why half of them were there, why they would bring their children to witness such tortures and yet, had i grown up in this culture, would i have been any different? do i feel the way i do simply because i grew up in another environment?

i've heard people argue that animal torture is wrong, no matter if it's tradition or not, and i am inclined to agree. at the same time, i have to ask just how much these same people are pushing their own ideals and beliefs on to a different culture. we call things "wrong" when they don't agree with our own ideas. so who am i to say bullfighting is wrong, when it seems everyone in the stands would agree that it is i who is wrong to believe what i believe?